The Fallen One

"Sir Edward, may I?" Lucius asked, his voice steady as he stood before his superior. His gaze swept the dining hall with practised caution, mirroring Edward's own ever-watchful nature. The two of them were near a quiet corner of the modest establishment—an old tavern favoured by knights and adventurers, where the aroma of roasted meats and spiced ale mingled with the low murmur of late conversations. Yet between these two men, the true scent was tension—dense and unspoken, coiling in the space between each breath.

Edward's eyes flicked across the hall once more, his outward calm betraying nothing, though his presence and status alone served as a silent warning to anyone nearby. There was no need for threats when authority pulsed from every inch of him. With a subtle hand motion, he dismissed Lucius's caution—no eyes lingered, no ears pried. They were alone now, and the masks could fall.

"You can relax, my friend," Edward said, settling back into his seat with a trace of familiarity. "Since you're late, I've already placed our usual order." His tone was light but not without bite, laced with just enough edge to remind Lucius that timeliness mattered in front of him.

Lucius gave a tight-lipped smile in response, acknowledging the unspoken rebuke without contest. Before he could speak further, a server arrived with their meals. His plate was simple yet familiar—red chicken, white rice, and crisp greens—while Edward's was nothing short of excessive: eight potato buns, ten boiled eggs, and a towering glass of buttermilk. With the dishes set and the server dismissed, Edward gestured with effortless command. "Begin."

Lucius inhaled slowly, centring himself. "I did it," he said, voice low but unwavering. "Two hundred of them. Maybe a few less. Every one of them is dead." He reached into his cloak and slid a small ring across the table. "Their cores, limbs, trophies—it's all inside." The weight behind the words was palpable, not from emotion, but from what they represented. Vengeance delivered and the task fulfilled.

Edward picked up the ring and studied it briefly before flicking it into his storage ring. A flicker of satisfaction passed across his otherwise unreadable features. "Good work, Lucius. I never doubted your success… Especially after discovering your master's true identity."

"...!?" Lucius barely had time to even react when the subtle shift in mana caught his attention. From a nearby table, a man suddenly stood—too abruptly, too unnaturally. "Ex—excuse me, please," he muttered, leaving behind a full plate of freshly prepared food and an untouched drink, as he strode toward the exit with somewhat alarming urgency.

Lucius remained seated, eyes tracking the figure without moving a muscle. His senses reached beyond the walls of the tavern, trailing the man as he slipped into Varis' marketplace. The moment Edward spoke again, his voice went unusually calm, almost bored. "I don't like people who waste food," he murmured, lifting his glass of buttermilk. Then, without emphasis: "Go kill him, please."

Lucius moved. Without hesitation, he pushed away from the table and exited through the rear door, his mana sparking to life within, empowering his senses and muscles... The chase had already begun.

The streets of Varis blurred around the two figures—wooden stalls, cluttered alleyways, scattered lanterns casting flickering shadows. Lucius's target was fast, unusually so, weaving through the city's back alleys and disappearing over rooftops.

The man darted left and right, ducking beneath canvas tarps, knocking over crates, trying to put obstacles between him and his chaser. But Lucius wasn't falling for his stalling tactics. He cut his mana rotation almost entirely, rendering himself undetectable to most. No trace of energy. No signature to follow, and in that moment, Lucius ceased to exist—the imperfect ghost.

Sure enough, once the man reached for the initial areas of the mountain forests, he slowed down. His posture eased, breath was no longer frantic as he believed he'd escaped, since the chaser wasn't the Aerial knight he was worried about, and that was his second, and last mistake.

BOOM!

A streak of compressed mana tore through, erupting with a thunderclap as it exploded at the man's feet. He barely dodged in time, tumbling violently into the roots of a massive, gnarled tree. Splinters and debris scattered as Lucius appeared, calm and unhurried, stepping into the clearing, one step, then another—then his boot came down hard on the man's chest, pinning him to the cold earth.

"Name," He asked plainly. The spy gasped, eyes wild. "A-Adith!" he choked. "Please… have mercy, young lord!" Lucius didn't react much before continuing. "Purpose?"

"T-to spy on you!" Adith rasped. His voice trembled, but Lucius didn't care, as he pressed further. "Elaborate, please."

When Adith hesitated, Lucius shifted his weight, and the man's ribs groaned under the young lord's force. "F-fuck! Alright! I was sent to track you—observe your movements, who you speak to, where you go, how you train. Everything!"

Lucius slightly narrowed his gaze, expecting more, which he didn't get, before resuming his interrogation. "And?" Adith swallowed hard, his breath hitching. "Combat style… your weapons. Your artefacts. Your abilities."

"For how long?" He asked. "Five days... Maybe a week?" Adith answered.

CRACK.

Adith screamed as Lucius snapped his left leg at the thigh with an audible break. The sound of bone giving way echoed through the clearing. Blood pooled, his body convulsing in sheer agony. "Liar, you've been tailing me for longer."

Adith whimpered, his breath shallow. His mana was non-responsive, almost depleted. There was nothing left but pain and fear. Finally, as the seconds dragged into silence, he spoke again. "Beckman… that's what he calls himself. My hired master. I don't know if that's his real name... I swear…"

Lucius absorbed the name silently. He didn't know it yet, but every detail mattered. "Thank you, sir," he said, his voice and his foot over him calm. "I appreciate your honesty." Adith let out a bitter, broken chuckle. "You're going to kill me anyway, aren't you?"

Lucius tilted his head slightly while looking around. "Yes." A breath escaped Adith's lips—half acceptance, half despair. "Then… please… make it quick." And without a word, Lucius reached into his coat and withdrew a small steel dagger. Its edge gleamed beneath the moonlight. Simple. Precise. He rolled it across his fingers once before stepping closer. "Close your eyes."

The blade sang as it slid across his throat—clean, merciful. The body stilled. Lucius knelt briefly, wiping the blood from his dagger. A final token, and a silent end. "Mercy granted," Lucius whispered. And with that, he turned and walked away, vanishing once more into the night.

***

"Next time you cross that line, my blade will pierce your core as well, my lord." The warning came sharp and cold, but Edward, reclining comfortably with his fifth cup of tea, didn't even flinch. He merely smirked into the rim of his porcelain, taking a leisurely sip like it was the punchline to a joke he'd heard one too many times. He didn't bother to turn around. "Good one, Lucius," he said, amusement simmering in his voice, unshaken as always.

Lucius let out a controlled exhale as he returned to his seat, though the irritation hadn't fully dissipated. His dinner sat cold and forgotten, steam long since vanished into the tavern's smoky air. He didn't care. Right now, food meant nothing, despite being hungry. He hadn't chased a man through the alleys of Varis, killed him in the forest, and returned for his dinner. He was here for one thing: answers. "Why?" he asked, voice quiet but with an edge that didn't allow evasion. "Why force me to end his life?"

Edward didn't answer immediately. Instead, his gaze drifted to Lucius' plate, the silence thickening like molasses between them. It was deliberate—a common tactic Lucius recognised. An old trick: patience as a test. Knowing the game, Lucius reluctantly began eating. The message was clear—address what's in front of you before asking for more. It annoyed him, but he complied. Discipline meant understanding even unspoken orders.

Only once Lucius had taken a few bites did Edward speak, his voice steady and blunt. "That man was a Level 3 criminal. Five assault charges. Repeat offender, utter trash." The simplicity of the statement made it colder. There was no moral conflict in Edward's tone. Just facts. Calculations. Justice through a lens of pragmatism.

Lucius paused mid-bite, surprised. The man had seemed like just another disposable spy—slippery and reckless? Yes, but hardly a danger. A loose threat, maybe, but not a predator. And yet… "Still regret killing that son of a bitch?" Edward asked, watching him closely.

Lucius hesitated, lips parting but offering no reply. Not because he regretted the kill, but because he hated the manipulation. Being manoeuvred like a weapon rather than choosing when to draw blood for himself. The silence said enough.

"He followed you for a month, didn't he?" Edward asked.

"Three weeks," Lucius corrected instantly, brows furrowed. Edward shook his head, unconvinced. "No. A month." His certainty was sharp, cutting across doubt. Lucius stiffened slightly. If Edward was that sure, it meant he had sources Lucius hadn't caught wind of. That meant one thing—someone had begun digging beneath the surface.

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"Your abilities and achievements up until now are... One of a kind, Lucius. And people have started noticing." That statement hit harder than it should've. Lucius masked his reaction, but inwardly, his thoughts reeled. 'How?'

Edward leaned back, tone still conversational, but his eyes sharp now. "For five years, you managed to stay hidden. You hunted alone. You kept your record clean, avoided unnecessary politics, rejected mouthwatering offers, and refused to let your name become a pawn. But that wall? It's cracking. These informers of the noble families, high-ranking adventurers, even the lowlifes at court… They might be vain and arrogant, but they're not blind. They've seen the patterns. They've seen the results. You're clean, too clean, too fast and efficient."

Lucius felt the inevitability settle in his gut like a stone. He had always known this moment would come—he just hoped it would come after he turned eighteen, when he'd have more autonomy, more legal leverage. "Any idea who Beckman is?" he asked quietly, shifting the conversation forward.

Edward shook his head. "It's a placeholder. Fake. We both know that. The issue isn't who he is. The issue is why someone with access to high-level mage spies is watching a seventeen-year-old adventurer." The implication itself rang louder than the statement.

Lucius leaned back in his seat, arms folded across his chest. A spy mage wasn't a cheap resource. Tracking someone with an evasive skillset required serious connections and deep pockets. This wasn't a bored noble playing games. This was someone dangerous. Someone deliberate.

Edward finished his tea and set the cup down with a soft clink. His eyes remained focused. "I can't stop you, Lucius. But we cannot keep these people off your trail for long. You've killed a B-ranked mage. Someone's going to notice. I give it two to four days before someone very dangerous comes knocking." Lucius gripped his fork tightly. "Then I have two to four days to prepare-"

"No. You don't. Now shut up and listen." The sudden edge in Edward's voice made Lucius blink. He wasn't used to being cut off, but he allowed it. Edward wasn't just his superior and a knight; he was a strategist and a political operator as well. "How long until your eighteenth birthday?" Edward asked.

"Six months," Lucius answered without hesitation, though he thought Edward would remember it. Edward frowned. "Six? You sure? Lavya said it was at least eight or nine months away."

Lucius tilted his head, a familiar smirk playing on his lips. "That's what they think. Only Sia knows the official date. Everyone else—I just… nudged it into their heads. A few off-hand comments here and there. Enough to plant a false memory."

Edward stared for a long moment before chuckling under his breath. "You've been manipulating your own birthdate for years? Just in case it proves useful?"

Lucius shrugged. "Didn't seem like a bad idea, especially when I don't celebrate my birthdays..." A long whistle escaped Edward as he leaned forward again. "Smart. Devious, but smart. That kind of foresight… Gods help us, you're a dangerous one." Lucius didn't respond. He already knew that. Edward's smirk faded. His tone grew serious again. "Well, that makes things easier. You're grounded." Lucius almost choked on his food, uncertain he'd heard correctly. "What?"

"You heard me. You're grounded. Until your official eighteenth birthday—six months from now." Lucius didn't immediately argue. He just stared, confused but listening. "I know it sounds insulting. Like I'm trying to coddle you. But I'm not," Edward said. He gestured to the waitress, paying the bill and asking for a bowl of lukewarm water. One of Varis' customs, cleansing fingers after a meal. Lucius watched in faint judgment as the knight dunked his entire hand like it was soup. He didn't even try to hide the look.

"I'm serious, Lucius," Edward said. "You've spent almost five years staying in the shadows. And you've done it well. But it's over. Your name's out. Some are whispering. Nobles, officials, even rogue guild officers. And while your squad's loyal, while Sia would rather tear down herself or the city than betray you, none of that matters anymore. The silence barrier has cracked."

Edward leaned in closer now, his voice low and steady. "Attention like this? It doesn't go away. Not without blood or power. Jhansi was a prodigy too—a fallen noble, trained from birth, an elementalist genius. And she still didn't pull shadows the way you do. Do you understand what that means? You're not just a threat in their eyes, you're an anomaly, which is worse, because being an anomaly sparks interest, which a threat could never."

Lucius leaned back in his seat, the implications settling heavily. Being visible had never been part of his plan. Being exceptional in secret—that was safe. But this? This was bad news.

Lucius stayed silent, his thoughts already trying to think several steps ahead. He hated where this was heading as his eyes flicked down to the cooling remnants of his food. Appetite gone. "So," Edward continued, leaning forward slightly, "you need to disappear from the field for a while. Let the spotlight drift. Ideally, land on someone else entirely."

"And how exactly do I explain that to the guild? To Sia? Lavya and Sara? I can't just vanish. That would be worse—it would scream suspicion."

Edward's lips curved into a grin, slow and deliberate, like he'd been waiting for Lucius to walk into that corner. "You're going to get injured."

"Before returning from your next mission," Edward continued, casually sipping the last of his tea, "you'll slash your right arm. Deep enough to look serious, shallow enough not to cripple. Then report it. Tell the guild I was there when it happened. Mention me directly."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not." Edward met his gaze, unwavering. "You're a Left Dominator. Your training won't be affected much. And this sends two messages: one, you're wounded—out of action for a while. And two, you were with me when the incident with Adith went down. That ties your timeline to mine and muddles any attempt to isolate you."

Lucius looked away, his frown deepening. "No. I'm not dragging you into this again." Edward's smile faded. His voice dropped a tone, sharpened like tempered steel. "Lucius, you're already in it. The moment you chased that spy through public streets, your anonymity cracked. Witnesses saw your face. People will talk, and they won't shut up."

"I don't care if they talk about me," Lucius shot back, voice hardening. "But you? You're a knight, a noble. You're respected, even by those who hate your kind in general. I won't let that be tarnished because of me."

Edward's gaze didn't waver. "Do you remember your first day in Varis?" He asked. "I guess. Vaguely."

"Do you remember anything after that? Beyond your meeting with Dargan and Jhansi?" A pause. Lucius dug through old memories, but found nothing concrete—no interrogations, no guild inquiries, not even the usual entry tests most adventurers faced.

"Exactly," Edward said, folding his arms. "Because five high-ranking officials pulled strings to make your entry seamless. You were an unknown orphan with no mana record, no bloodline proof, and no real documentation. And yet you weren't questioned, detained, or even watched."

Lucius's expression darkened as Edward pressed on. "Two of them are my closest friends—Guildmaster Dargan and Mercy. They stood up for you. So did Sia. They vouched with their names, their careers, and their reputations. If someone manages to frame you—and trust me, someone's already trying—it won't stop with you. They'll drag everyone down. Everyone who stood by you." Lucius couldn't deny the logic anymore. This wasn't just about him.

"As for Adith," Edward added, tone returning to something grimly practical, "he was a criminal. I can prove it—espionage, black market contacts, history of assault. That part's clean. But if you're caught in the wrong light—even once—your entire support structure collapses. And those who've protected you? They fall with you."

Lucius stared at the empty table. His voice, when it came, was quiet but resolute. "This isn't about being afraid, is it?"

Edward shook his head. "No. This is about timing. Right now, the real game is being played above your tier. But in six months... you'll be free. Truly. When you turn eighteen, all the restrictions vanish. The guild can't oversee your movements. You'll own your name. You'll hold real authority over yourself."

He leaned forward, voice low, final. "But if you don't make it to that day clean, nothing else matters."

Lucius breathed slowly, processing every word. He felt the weight of that future pressing down on him like iron chains. The next six months weren't just about survival—they were a countdown. A bridge to something larger. Something real.

"…Fine," he muttered. "Yes. I mean… I'll think about it." Edward smirked in approval. "Good. Just don't stab too deep. You'll need that arm eventually." Lucius didn't answer to his taunt. "Do exactly what I told you. Stay hidden. Walk like a weakling. Keep your head down. Let them think you're just a kid who watched me kill a man and couldn't handle it. Let them underestimate you." Lucius nodded faintly. No more protests. No questions. Just quiet understanding, and that was enough.

Edward rose with the slow grace of someone used to command. He paid the bill at the front without fanfare and walked out into the cold Varis night. Lucius remained seated, still lost in thought, eyes fixed on the doorway long after the knight had disappeared.

'Beckman.'

The name repeated in his mind like a warning bell. A code. A ghost. Something real… or someone worse. He had theories. Threads of speculation pulled tight by paranoia and instinct. Nothing solid yet. But there was one name—one possibility—that refused to leave him alone.

Eventually, he exhaled and stood. No use chasing shadows tonight. He thanked the server quietly and stepped into the street as the last customer, just before the tavern's doors were shuttered for the night.

Outside, Varis lay quiet under silver moonlight. Stars freckled the dark velvet sky, and a cold wind slipped between buildings like a whisper. It tugged at Lucius's hair, threading through the city's alleys like it had always known the way.

Nights like these always calmed him. Cold. Empty. Still.

Whenever the world felt too loud—whenever doubt clawed at his chest—Lucius walked. It was more than habit. It was a ritual. A form of quiet rebellion against the noise in his head. Tonight, as the tension still simmered, he let his feet carry him past the city's edges, past the cobbled roads and manor gates. Home could wait. Even Sia would understand.

So he turned toward the mountains.

The Black Mountain Range loomed ahead, tall and jagged against the stars. Most saw them as dangerous, untamed mysteries meant to be avoided. But to Lucius, they were sacred. They had shaped him. Sheltered him. Witnessed his worst and best. Here, in their shadows, he'd carved his strength in blood and silence.

As he ascended the old trail, Lucius cut off his mana rotation completely. In a blink, his signature vanished. No aura. No detectable energy. To any other sentient being, he no longer existed, and yet his perception remained razor-sharp.

He felt the weight of the earth beneath him. The caress of wind slipping between leaves. Even the faint threads of distant mana cling to cracks in the stone. His awareness transcended the core that sat nestled in his chest, because his mana abilities weren't solely bound to his core.

It was something deeper. "My mana senses aren't tied to my mana circulation. They're bound to something else—something older. My soul. That's why I can feel mana even when I'm empty."

He reached out, placing one palm on the bark of the old training tree nestled in the cliff's cradle. It was weathered and firm beneath his fingers, a familiar landmark carved by fists and memory. He had bled in front of it. Healed beneath it. Slept under its shade. This was his place. Here, he wasn't a variable. He wasn't a threat or a mystery; here he was just Lucius.

He sat down slowly, resting his back against the rough trunk as the wind whispered through the ridges. The mountains held their breath as moonlight crowned the peaks above. He stared upward, not blinking, lost in the spiral of everything to come. Six months. That was the margin. The limit, and in those six months, he would sharpen himself to a blade finer than anything they'd ever seen. He would protect Sia, Lavya, Sara and himself. He would also find Beckman along with the puppeteers behind the curtain.

And if they came for him again? 'Let them try.' Lucius's eyes narrowed, voice low beneath the howling wind. "Six months. That's all I need. Then… gods help them all."